The Declining Price of Gold
by Blind Squirrel
Summary: The 2012 Olympics are underway in London. Gymnast Alfred Jones is just trying to take it all in during his first games, while Diver Arthur Kirkland is desperate to avoid any distractions that might keep him from his last chance at claiming Gold.
1. Chapter 1

_Breathe_…

_Straighten back… position arms correctly… Fingers pointed down… head tilted just so… and…_

…_Breathe!_

The familiar sounds of the pool hall faded away to near nothingness as the precise movements that the athlete was about to execute played and replayed in an endless loop in his mind.

_Bend knees exactly 45 degrees… jump with just enough strength to test the steel board… to feel the resistance under you feet… Push… Leap… and…_

… _Fall._

Faster than the untrained eye could process, the well-toned man leapt from the board even as his inner monologue remained hidden from the world around him, his breathing the only indication that the statuesque figure was human at all.

His lean and defined torso rotated into seemingly impossible angles with lightning quick and finely tuned precision as the surface below him sped forward and gravity took control over its domain. And as the semi-tepid waters rushed forward over the man's rock steady body, barely any sound or movement broke the water's surface to give any indication of the great heights he'd just fallen from.

Unharmed and deep in concentration, the man continued to scrutinize every muscle that had just been used, no matter how minute.

He resurfaced quickly and absently swam to the side of the regulation size swimming pool with a deep scowl firmly planted on his face in disapproval.

A significantly older man dressed in an equally old looking pair of sweats met the diver by the side of the pool and handed him a towel without any words of praise that he had long since learned would only fall upon deaf ears.

"You didn't rotate fully in the third position, Arthur. And your right leg was a fraction further back than you're left." The grey haired man mumbled out loud while deep in thought as the diver lifted himself effortlessly from the gently rocking water and took the offered towel to dry off his wild untamed hair.

"I know." This was Arthur's only reply as his diving routine was once again meticulously ripped apart and examined repeatedly in his mind's eye.

"You're overtraining" The coach subtly warned, daring to bring up an increasingly dangerous topic that was almost guaranteed to set the serious competitor off.

The towel that Arthur held to his face slowly fell away, his normally bright green eyes rimmed with red from over his extended contact with the chlorine that day.

"I don't care." Arthur's reply was firm and his resolve unwavering.

And Arthur really didn't care how close he was to the edge. He was done with playing it safe. In the past he'd always done what he was told, he'd gone by the book, he'd done everything the experts had ever told him to do and what good had it ever done for him?

Arthur Kirkland was the reigning Diving World Champion and against all odds had held that title more times than any other athlete from any other summer sport. No diver in the history of competitive diving had won more awards than he had; none had dominated the sport as strongly as he could and none could even come close to his marks when he showed up to event.

Unless of course, it was the only event that anyone _actually_ cared about.

Well then… that's when everything would fall apart.

Five chances had slipped through his fingers! Five times he had watched as his beloved country had turned on him in hate and scorn for his inability to deliver when it counted. Five _impossible _times he had managed to qualify for the Olympics without even breaking a sweat and then failed to even make it past the preliminary rounds once he got there.

He was Arthur_ Bloody_ Kirkland and he would _not_ sit by idly and allow the last chance he had at an Olympic Gold medal slip through his fingers for the 6th and final time.

xxxxxxxx

It would almost be impossible to describe the feeling of hopefulness, excitement and sheer joy that vibrated throughout the Olympic Village as Alfred F. Jones made his way down the central brick pathway, stopping only to take yet another photo with his hard earned expensive camera.

He was well on his way to filling up his third memory card as his good friend and fellow Olympian Tony Smith nudged him playfully, laughing at his over exuberance at the smallest detail. Alfred would get excited over the simplest of things: whenever he saw a 2012 Olympic emblem, a display of world flags, even some athletes having a mock game of soccer in the main courtyard.

Alfred could only smile in embarrassment and defend his youthful exuberance.

"Laugh it up Tony, but this is already your third Olympics, the novelty must just have worn off in your old age." Alfred teased in fake disdain.

Tony only rolled his eyes and played the part of the older wiser Olympian well. "It's not my fault that you gymnast have a life span of a month" His friend exaggerated. "We divers tend to milk these things as long as we can."

The truth was, of course, not as bad as either of them made it out to be. Tony Smith was the current US national Diving Champion and had earned Gold at the 2008 Olympics in Beijing. At 24, the American diver was truly in the 'prime' of his chosen career. Whereas, Alfred at 20 was considered just starting his short Gymnastics career, a competitive career that usually only lasted between the ages of 20-25 for men, especially in the physically demanding Rings and High Bar that Alfred excelled at.

But no matter what either of them said, they both knew what an honour it was to be at any Olympics game, be it their first or third time.

The official 2012 Olympics in London hadn't even officially begun yet, but the festivities were well underway. The opening ceremonies weren't for another few days, but already the Olympic village was full of athletes from many different nations. There were a few pre-competition events, just like every year, but most were there to do practice runs in the discipline of their choice.

But this evening was a different matter entirely. Alfred, Tony and the rest of the US Olympic team were currently dressed to the nines in their nicest Team USA attire and were on their way to the Welcome Party for Olympians and their coaches. The older and more experienced Olympians tried to act unaffected, but even Alfred could tell they were just as caught up as he was in the 'Maybe this will be their year" spirit.

Some were nervous as hell about their upcoming performances, especially those that took place in the first week of the Olympics, but for Alfred's part, he was taking everything in like a tourist might. Never in a million years could he have imagined making it to the Olympics and certainly not in the short amount of years he'd actively been competing.

Back home he was being celebrated as a progeny, one of America's best chances at an Olympic Gold, and more importantly, a Gymnastics Olympic Gold. If he played his cards right he could be looking at several medals really, including one for the All-Around Team Event. But strangely, none of that weighed as heavily on his mind as it probably should have. Anyone who knew Alfred knew that he truly was as genuine as he appeared to be.

He played hard, but he worked even harder and he knew more than anyone else how lucky he was to have gotten this far. Absolutely nothing was going to diminish the experience of having made it to the Olympics: Gold Medal or not… he had done the unthinkable already and that was more than enough for him already.

A few more of his teammates joined up with Tony and Alfred as the sun started to slowly set around them and the main meeting hall became visible. Loud music and a joyous atmosphere oozed out of the windows and onto the lively front patio. If possible, an even wider grin cracked on Alfred's face as he dodged ahead to accept some non-alcoholic beer, there was real alcohol on tap of course, but few athletes would brave any possible substance in their systems so close to the drug testing.

Inside the building there was a large selection of food, mostly of the health variety, and people were either playing games or already starting to dance despite the sun still being visible over the horizon. It made sense to have such an event so early in the day. Olympians were stressed out enough about the upcoming world event and were unlikely to stay up until 2am just to dance the night away. But these gatherings were needed to stress the importance of the event and allow the athletes to meet in a relatively safe and non-competitive venue.

Within moments of entering the loud building Alfred and Tony made their way over to the food table, Alfred only stopping to eat to take more photos than he thought he had room for on his memory card. The hall was filled with more than enough participants for his trigger happy fingers and he was pleased to have one athlete after another happily throw themselves in front of his lens and giggle happily while displaying their country flag on whatever team outfit that had been chosen for them.

It was during such a pose that Alfred caught something in the corner of his camera lens view while trying to manually focus on some happy Romanians. An unusual sight, at least from what Alfred had so far seen, appeared in the distance when a grey haired man visibly pushed a short-ish scowling man with a lean build through the front doors. The younger of the two ripped his hands out of the other's grip and snapped something angrily, but whatever it was he said, it was quickly silenced by some reprimand that had the shorter man moving along reluctantly into the building.

His participants in the photo started to grow anxious when he'd yet to take a photo and verbally began to complain in a language Alfred didn't speak at all. He quickly took the photo and apologized before dismissing the group and trying to find the strange duo once more.

It didn't take Alfred long to find the two men making their way somewhat closer but stopping halfway when the younger man found a couch that was virtually untouched by the energetic group around them. Alfred quickly held his large camera up and zoomed in as far as the lens would allow in order to sneak a better look.

While it was clear the grey haired man was far too old to be an athlete, the younger of the two also appeared to be past the usual age for an Olympian and was more than likely a fellow coach. But the whole situation had more of the appearance of a Father and Son argument than that of two equals.

The older of the two stood up and physically motioned for the younger man to remain where he was, even as he continued to sit there defiantly and determined not to mingle. The old man then walked off and turned around only once to utter some last threat that made Alfred wish he could read lips for no other reason to than to find out what could make a full grown adult stay seated against his will.

The sitting man was finally left to his own devices and looked just as unhappy as he had been before. Alfred curiously catalogued his dark blonde hair that had obviously not been groomed before the party and while the man was dressed in his Team Uniform, indicating he was a citizen of the Host Country, the United Kingdom, he was only wearing the training outfit, something you wore right after a routine… not to a party.

The scowl on his face was made even more prominent by a pair of thick brows that were turned down and matched perfectly by a thin pair of lips that were pressed tightly and displayed an equal amount of unhappiness. Through the lenses Alfred could make out a pair of green eyes that were practically spitting fire at the retreating back of the other coach before briefly turning his way.

While it would have been unlikely that the fuming man had seen him, the illusion of the angry gaze directed his way had been more than enough for Alfred to drop his camera down and look shame faced at the ground. But not before snapping a quick photo despite himself, making him feel all the more guilty for his actions.

"Hey Al, what's up? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Alfred quickly replaced his embarrassment with a crooked smile. "Nah its ok Tony…. Just that coach over there caught me taking his picture and didn't seem too happy about it… I think… I'm not really too sure…"

The American diver directed his gaze towards the couch and Alfred was surprised to hear a groan of distaste. "That's no coach Al, just an old stubborn bastard who doesn't know when it's time to retire."

Alfred couldn't stop the way his eyes lit up in excitement and his voice asked just a little too expectantly. "You mean… you know him?"

Tony looked wearily back at him, not liking where the conversation was going at all. "Yeah… of course I know him. That's Arthur Kirkland, the supposed 'Top Winning Diver of all time"." Tony's voice took on a mocking quality before he mumbled moodily to himself. "At least in _his_ own over-inflated opinion."

Cautious of showing too much interest, Alfred began to fiddle with his camera strap, completely unaware of how the action gave away his true feelings on the matter all too clearly. "What do you mean? I thought you were the best. Has he ever beat _you_ before?"

"No!" Tony practically spat out, but then grudgingly corrected himself. "I mean… sort of… well technically yes. But not when it counted, like in Beijing!"

Alfred knew full well that his training camp friend had come in second yet again at the recent World Diving Competition, but as Alfred was unfamiliar with the athletes in the other sports he'd never heard the rest of the results.

"So he just wins at national competitions then, he doesn't place in worlds or anything." Alfred innocently asked with some disappointment, his natural and somewhat morbid curiosity once again getting the better of him.

"Not exactly… " Tony grudgingly admitted. "Kirkland is the reigning World Champion, has been for a few years now. And before that he had held the title a few times as well. BUT!" And here Tony emphasized with gritted teeth. "He has a nasty habit of buckling under pressure."

Alfred looked as dubious as anyone could when told a multiple World Champion was prone to 'buckling under pressure.' But Tony wasted no time in proving his point.

"Alfred, first of all, Stop it! I know you and I know how you think. You see him as some kind of challenge and you are literally obsessed with 'overcoming the odds'. He's a sullen bastard and he is universally hated by his own team mates, his country, as well as every known Diver in the world. I don't know a single person who has a nice thing to say about him. Kirkland is currently competing in his 6th Olympics. SIXTH OLYMPICS, Alfred! He's a 35 year old diver who had the good fortune to have been born into a rich family who was willing to pay for his failed Olympic career." Tony purposely mentioned this fact, knowing all too well that this was the kind of thing that would most likely get to Alfred, even though the US diver himself didn't exactly lack any means of funds.

"Most people think he's pretty cursed to have that kind of bad luck in the Olympics and rightfully avoid him and his sour attitude. So while _Mommy_ and _Daddy_ have been throwing their money away, he's been chasing Olympic Gold since before either of us were even born. And not once has he ever even come close to making it to the finals at the Olympics."

"And the rest of the time?" Alfred couldn't help but ask in a quiet voice; his curiosity more than piqued by now, the exact opposite of what Tony was aiming for.

"The rest of the time…" Tony's voice wavered, bitterness spilling forth despite himself. "The limey is _fucking_ untouchable."

XXXX

TBC…

Author's Notes:

I'm dabbling in USUk, so let me know what you think.

Just a little something to get you all excited about the upcoming Olympics.

I do have more of this written, but I won't bother editing it and posting if there is no interest. In which case I'll just crawl back to my world of RusCan :P


	2. Chapter 2

Had the coffee table that stood innocently before Arthur been any more flammable, it might have long ago burst into flames from the burning gaze that the British diver was currently directing towards it.

To Arthur, this was all clearly a case of blackmail… no extortion… no, an abuse of power as is what it was! And he was entirely defenseless to do anything about it.

His Coach had used the ultimate trump card in order to force Arthur into taking a supposedly much needed break from his strenuous training… the card being his parents. Ironically this was the last place in the world his parents would have wanted him to be right now. But unless he took the evening to relax, his Coach was threatening to tell them some tidbits of information that Arthur really didn't want coming out right now. And as sad as it was that a 35-year-old man depended upon the generosity of his parents for his livelihood, it was the reality of his situation as a professional competitor.

Arthur had less than a week to perfect his routine, less than 3 days to make sure that even if he fainted on the standing platform, that his muscles would be so thoroughly conditioned that they would do the routine automatically without his help.

Quite simply, Arthur was running out of time and instead of doing what he was supposed to be doing, he'd been locked out of the pool house by his ridiculous coach who would have been fired long before now if he wasn't the only one willing to work with Arthur… as well as the only one Arthur could normally trust explicitly… as much as he was loathed to admit that at the moment.

In defiance of his current predicament, Arthur could only make the best out of a bad situation and chose instead to sit quietly and mentally run through his routines rather than even attempt to socialize with people who didn't care for him and with whom he felt no connection with what-so-ever.

Feeling his anger bubble to the surface again, Arthur lashed out at the coffee table and kicked it with all his might as he watched it slam into an unsuspecting knee that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

Temporarily horrified that he might have just unintentionally injured another athlete, a sure means of being disqualified during the Olympics, Arthur's head shot up quickly to apologize. But his words died on his lips when he saw a cocky grin and a pair of sparkling eyes directing themselves towards him in what he assumed was supposed to be a display of absolute charm.

"Whoa! Easy there… don't think they are handing out medals for furniture destruction this year."

The voice belonged to a rather young, but attractive, man dressed in a Team USA uniform. His distractingly bright blonde hair matched perfectly with his even brighter blue eyes and equally blinding white teeth.

Arthur naturally felt an instant disdain for the young man and was weary of him from the get go. Painful past experiences had prepared him to expect yet another attack on his Olympic history and his perfectionist character traits. The kind of things that made him seem unapproachable and unlikable at best and usually the target at these kinds of social events.

Unwilling to subject himself to yet another round of teasing, particularly from someone on the US team - which seemed to particularly delight in mocking him – Arthur steeled himself for battle.

Completely ignoring any sort of pleasantry, Arthur sharply snapped out a "No!" before physically turning away and leaning backwards into the couch as he folded his arms as a means to physically distance himself from the other man.

The American looked momentarily confused, trying to think of what he had said that could have been construed as a question.

"No… what?" He asked pleasantly, his eyes sparkling with mirth as he tried to keep up his smiling persona.

Oh how Arthur wanted to wipe that smile away.

"No, I don't want to have a little chat. No, I don't want a drink and then maybe go for a dance. And, No, I do not want to talk about anything remotely related to my performance in any past or future Olympics!"

The American nodded his head in deep thought, as if Arthur had just presented him with something both interesting and insightful to think about.

"Ok." He finally agreed before sitting down close to the surprised diver and offering his right hand out in greeting. "Hi, I'm Alfred Jones, a gymnast for Team USA, and you are?"

Arthur flinched away from the close proximity, visibly taken aback by the friendly advance despite himself. "Well…'Alfred Jones', I'm highly doubtful that you don't already know who I am or you wouldn't have bothered to approach me in the first place. My _charming_ and _welcoming_ personality usually doesn't tend to lure people in."

Alfred chuckled at the comment but only shrugged playfully in a manner that demonstrated he'd been 'caught' in his lie. "Yup… you got me; your reputation precedes you. Arthur? Right?"

The American's smile grew even bigger if possible, which only managed to increase the impression that this was all some elaborate joke that Arthur was still yet to clue in on.

"Ah yes… my reputation!" The brit narrowed his eyes, feeling himself to be on more familiar ground. "And since you are obviously already well acquainted with it, I'm surprised that you've not also already been warned to stay away from my supposed foul disposition and my _magical_ ability to curse you into losing any chance at a medal!" Arthur spoke in a condescending tone while raising a single brow in question.

"That may have been the general consensus." Alfred agreed honestly, but with no trace of malice in his voice.

"And yet you ignored this sound advice and chose instead to attempt fruitless conversation with me thinking that maybe… just maybe my look of displeasure was merely an act and that deep down inside I was ever so hopeful that some young promising Olympian champion would make his way over here and save me from my introverted ways as he ushered me off to the dance floor to have the 'best time of my life'." Arthur pretended to give a sweet smile to accompany his assessment of the situation.

Arthur knew that this was not the case at all and that the American had no intention of enjoying his company in any way. It was only a matter of time before the inevitable 'other shoe' dropped, so to speak.

"Well, Arthur, you got most of it right. Except that last bit, of course!" Alfred cheekily replied as he carefully inched his way slightly closer.

"Oh really, and what pray tell did I get wrong." Arthur's acid tone did little to sway the younger man as he had hoped it would.

"Well, I know you you're not shy and I know you'd rather cut off your own legs than be seen on that dance floor. But, if I could be perfectly honest, Arthur?"

"Oh, please do… I'm desperate to know your deep insight into the situation." Arthur sarcastically remarked without any more attempts to hide his true feelings on the matter. But his voice trailed off when Alfred suddenly pressed forward dangerously close.

"I also know you're not really that bad of a guy. I just think that if you had it your way you'd be sitting here all night alone without bothering a soul and would just continue going over your diving routine… detail by painstaking… detail. And… as for the fruitless conversation part, well, I dunno… I kinda think I've been doing pretty good so far, dont'cha think?"

Arthur flushed bright red in both anger and embarrassment at having his thoughts so opening displayed before him. Of _course_ he'd been going over his routine; his bastard of a coach was preventing him from actually practicing his routine like he should, what else was he supposed to do? Play 'social' with all the young 20-somethings like Alfred? The same people who wanted nothing more than to shun him or see him break his leg while walking across the floor!

Arthur set his expression with a grim determination and leaned forward in order to meet Alfred eye to eye. "Listen closely because I am only going to say this once."

To Arthur's annoyance, Alfred didn't flinch or bother to back away, he only grinned wider at the challenge.

"I don't believe you're being sincere for one second; and even if I did, I have no interest in developing any sort of relationship this week outside of the kind that will help me improve in my diving. So do yourself a favour and go find someone more interested in your deceptive small town boyish style of 'charm' and leave… me… the… hell… alone!"

By the end rant Arthur was practically grinding out his final words and his face was contorted to showcase his irritation in a way that Alfred was sure to find unappealing and not worth his effort.

Alfred titled his head to the side and let out a deep breath of air as he looked down in resignation. "Fine… I was hoping it wouldn't have come to this, but if you insist… guess I'll have to show you what you're gonna be missing out on."

There was only enough time for Arthur's brows to furrow in confusion before Alfred grabbed at his lapels and pulled him across the final few inches that separated them as he proceeded to crush their lips together.

Arthur barely felt the contact before he saw a flash of light out of the corner of his eye. He pushed violently against the American and sat up in his seat, words not even able to express his anger over the situation. He furiously looked around to see if any other Americans had been there to catch the unwanted moment on film and to his horror his dire suspicions were proven correct.

Standing not far off with a deviously pleased expression on his face and a large expensive looking camera in his hand was a person Arthur dreaded meeting at any international competition. Not for fear of skill, but for the verbal harassment that was always sure to follow in Tony Smith's footsteps.

Tony hated Arthur and he made sure to let that fact be known by all around him. And now his fellow competitor had a photo of him locking lips with another man on the eve of the most important competition of his life.

If his parents were ever to find out…

"Arthur?" Two voices called his name out at once, but the concern in the American's voice was easily drowned out by the elegant and very much surprised voice of his mother's that broke through his increasingly blood filled ears in horror.

Arthur's eyes widened in fear as he turned around to see the angry expressions of not only his mother but also his always meticulously presented father as well.

His Coach stood nearby the two and it was obvious from his position that he'd been trying to lead the two away from the party, and as far away from Arthur as possible… but it had been too late.

"Arthur, just what is the meaning of this?" His father asked with a subtle warning that Arthur would have had to been deaf not hear.

To Arthur it seemed as if the world had stopped on its axis. The music shut down, the other athletes removed from the room. But even as his pulsed raced furiously in an attempt to bring blood back up to his face, Arthur knew that no one else was taking any notice to his crisis other than himself.

The worst of it was that he knew that his parents weren't upset that the American Olympian had just kissed him, but that he been caught 'letting loose' and attending a frivolous event that was serving alcohol on the eve of his last Olympic opportunity. Already Arthur could feel the pounding in his head as his breathing started to go slightly off kilter.

This was not going to end well.

Before Arthur could respond in any way, his father roughly grabbed his arm in a way that looked harmless, but allowed Arthur to feel his rage in his strong grip. "Outside this minute!" He whispered harshly.

Arthur allowed himself to glance back towards Tony who was maliciously snickering out loud over his public reprimand. The American Diver held up the camera and mouthed the word "Facebook" before pursing his lips in fake kiss goodbye.

His father's strong arms began to lead him out of the party and onto the cobble stone pathway of the Olympic village. And Arthur could only turn back momentarily to narrows his eyes dangerously at the young man who was still sitting down, apparently stunned by the turn of events. He appeared to be genuinely confused about what was going on. But now knowing his connection to Tony, Arthur trusted him even less than he had before.

Once outside in the fresh air, his Father's grip tightened painfully as he swung him around to face him. He immediately began to lay into him. "It simply defies all reason how you can take this entire situation so lightly! Do you have ANY idea how much money we've invested in you Arthur? Do you?"

His elderly coach came up from behind and instantly jumped to defend him as he always did when his parents came around, which was a fairly rare even these days. "The kid just needed a break! He's been working himself to death, and we all know we can count on our hands the number of parties he's been to in his lifetime."

His father's ire briefly turned towards the old man. "James, when I require your training expertise I'll ask for it. I will discuss this matter with you after. _You_ are his coach, not his friend and certainly not his babysitter. This 'kid' is a grown adult who can take responsibilities for his own actions, isn't that _right _Arthur?" His father turned back to Arthur with a dangerous look.

Seeing his coach being belittled in such a way sent a rare surge of bravery when dealing with his parents. The elderly man was quite probably the only person in the world who had ever shown him any kindness, and while Arthur had disagreed with coming here today in the first place, he knew his coach had meant well and had never intended for his parents to find out.

"He didn't know I was here father, I snuck away after practice and told him I was going to…" as if on cue his father slapped him hard on the cheek. It hadn't been an exaggerated movement, but it had hurt none the less, and in more ways than one.

"Arthur I raised you better than to lie to me. Now you're going to march right back to your assigned dorm and use your free time for a more applicable use than trying to rut against some drunk under-aged hooligan who doesn't have something prove like you do. We've invested a lot of money for a long time in you Arthur, and we both know it's high time you started delivering and stopped this foolish acting out you do every bloody Olympics. Is that clear?"

Arthur swallowed down his suddenly dry throat. His breathing was starting to become increasingly erratic… like it always did when he was faced with the inevitable failure of yet another Olympic event. He tried to answer but all that he could manage was a quick shallow breath that barely gave him enough oxygen to keep standing let alone respond appropriately.

He knew he was having another attack, the same kind he would get high on the platform while he looked down at the disappointed yet hopeful gazes of his parents at the only event that they had ever bothered to show up for. His pulse would quicken, his breathing would shorten… and then… it would all come crashing down.

He tried to hide the signs of his distress and jutted his chin out like the proud Englishman he was, but his attempts were too little too late. He could hear his mother make a disapproving noise at his inability to answer his father's simple question.

"Just pathetic… " His father finally ground out. "You're wasting your life son and everything you've ever aimed for because you're just not willing to work hard enough for it."

Arthur tried to retort, to show that they were wrong and that he had been working very hard indeed, harder than he ever had before. But all he could do was stand there as useless as his father claimed him to be, as he attempted to regulate his breathing pattern and stop his vision from going blurrier than it already was.

His father pushed away and started walking off without another word, his mother following not far behind him.

Arthur's Coach was quick to grab onto his arm in almost the exact same spot his father had just held on to before leading him to a nearby bench to sit down. His Coach then knelt down on one knee in front of him in order to monitor his condition and loosen the zipper on his jacket.

"Come on then, have a seat, easy does it. Breathe in through your nose. Deep breath… let it all out slowly."

In the back of his mind Arthur absently obeyed his Coach's instructions. He was used to listening to quick corrections like this in training, and the old man's demeanor helped him to slowly calm down.

When he was somewhat able to verbalize his internal battle, Arthur looked up in a rare external display of despair and voiced his deepest fear. "It's going to happen again, isn't it? I'm going to…". His voice trailed off, too miserable to even finish his train of thought.

"Don't be daft." His coach lightly reprimanded while he checked his pulse and brushed aside his suddenly damp fringe. "As if I'd let the Kirkland family 'investment' yield no results in the end."

Arthur knew he was trying to make light of the situation, but at the moment he didn't find it very funny at all. All Arthur had ever known was balancing on a delicate hinge and he felt it could give way at any moment. His coach must have sensed this because he signed out loud and gently rubbed the younger man's shoulders with his strong but withered hands.

"Arthur, there is no one in this sport who has trained harder, longer or with more heart than you do on a daily basis. You are the best at what you do, and the only one who is standing in the way of what you want is that fool of a father of yours. If you want this bad enough, you'll do it. We both know that. You just have to remember to… breathe."

_Breathe… right… just breathe…_

Arthur closed his eyes and let the cool evening air wash over his flushed features, he let in a deep breath through his nose. And as he exhaled it was as if all his worries were momentarily forgotten in a single breath of air, tucked back deep down within himself where he kept all of his greatest fears hidden.

He opened his eyes to offer his Coach a quick nod to acknowledge that he had heard his words but stopped when he caught sight of a familiar young man skulking just outside of the entrance to the party hall.

The young American, Alfred, must have followed them outside and watched the entire display silently in the background. In his right hand he held that blasted camera, but his face showed none of the superiority and glee that Tony's had over the situation, only more confusion and what suspiciously looked like remorse.

XXXXX

Author's Notes:

So basically I'm basing Arthur of a winter Olympian named Kurt Browning. Easily one of the best skater's of all time, reigning world champion for multiple years… but completely choked at every Olympics.

Year after year the pressure mounted, and when he failed to place in his last Olympics, there is a heart breaking interview where he breaks down and cries. 4 time world champion, and in the end all anyone had cared about was whether or not he got a medal.(I love you Kurt)

Arthur is also loosely based off of the British Diving sensation Tom Daley, who like Arthur, started competing in the Olympics at the age of 15 (highly unusual). A lot of pressure to put on a little guy.

And Alfred's background is not too far off from the Ukraine Skater Oksana Baiul (there's a little tip off to his story)

Hope you enjoy the story so far. But so we're clear, Alfred really was just hitting on Arthur, there was no maliciousness there. And Arthur's not really an ass, just OCD and has a ton of pressure to deal with at the moment…


	3. Chapter 3

The 2012 London Olympic committee had, like in years past, provided a dorm room for each individual athlete in a 'house' for each and every country participating. Since the vast majority of all athletes had already arrived, by rights the houses should have been bustling. But for the moment, the US house was thankfully utterly devoid of life. The hallways were so quiet that one could almost hear a pin drop, if it weren't for the Television noise coming from Alfred's dorm room.

The reason for the self-imposed solitude was that Alfred had been the only person from Team USA that had bothered to leave the party so early on. He'd since spent his free time locked up in his room alone and flipping through the various BBC channels in search of something to take his mind off the earlier disaster of his evening.

To be honest, he could barely believe how quickly things had turned so sour. One moment he was on a natural high from life and locked in a battle of wits with a very good looking and sharp Brit… and the next he felt like a rug had been pulled out from under his feet.

He'd never meant to humiliate the British Athlete, just shake him up enough so that he gave Alfred the time of day. Something that Alfred knew would be a challenge with Arthur's 'tough-to-crack' exterior. Had he known that Arthur's parents had been so close by, he never would have been bold or cheeky enough to kiss him like that. Alfred had only been trying to throw him off balance a bit.

Alfred honestly couldn't have predicated a worse outcome to the evening if he tried. It wasn't like he'd never been rejected before, but to see the look of hurt on Arthur's face after all was said and done, and to know that he had some small part in causing that pain…. Uhhh it was just too much.

Alfred threw his remote against the wall and watched with no pleasure as it left a small dent in its wake, the remote breaking to reveal the now unsecured batteries. He groaned into his hands and desperately thought of how he was going to fix this mess.

Considering he really should be thinking of other more pressing things, like his performance in a few days, Alfred just couldn't get the image of Arthur Kirkland out of his mind.

Alfred kept replaying the images of how Arthur had looked sitting all alone on the couch, so proud and defiant. Like he was ready to take on the world, and Alfred believed he could do it if he tried. Or how his green eyes grew bright and glinted dangerously in the badly lit dance hall when he began to challenge Alfred head on.

It had been fun and exciting and Alfred was more than a little sorry when it had ended.

Everything from Arthur's indifference to fitting in socially to his vulnerability when confronted with his parents intrigued Alfred to no end. He wanted to challenge and comfort the man all at the same time.

Arthur was attractive, smart, hard working, and more impressively, Alfred had heard him selflessly lie to stand up for his coach.

Simply put, Arthur was perfect. Or at least in Alfred's eyes he was.

But by now, Arthur probably had a very negative impression of him, no thanks to Tony.

Alfred had only asked his friend to hold his camera so that that he could meet the other Diver, he'd never intended for Tony to use it to embarrass him further.

After all was said and done, Alfred had gotten pretty upset with Tony and stormed off back to the dorms not long after their confrontation. He knew that Tony wasn't really a bad guy, but for whatever reason he really had it in for Arthur. Tony had always been very competitive, and Alfred was beginning to believe they were probably only good friends because they competed in completely different venues.

Alfred just didn't think like Tony did when it came to competitors. If there was a big fish to beat, Alfred just worked harder. He never blamed someone else for being able to last longer than he did on the rings or do a more complicated swing on the high bar. It just forced Alfred to push himself further, work harder, and then beat them when the time came.

Brooding internally, Alfred's long train of thought soon came to an abrupt halt when he heard a familiar name being mentioned on the television in the background.

In the excitement of the upcoming Olympics, the BBC was airing a TV Special dedicated to looking at this year's Olympic hopefuls for Britain. The program had already run through quite a few names before they had finally gotten to Arthur's.

A slideshow of photos showing Arthur throughout the years flashed on the screen and Alfred was awe struck at just how young Arthur had actually been during his first Olympics. He'd just turned 15 the week of his first games in '92 and looked surprisingly young for his age due to the intense workout regime and his slim physique as a diver.

The TV Special took a look back through Arthur's impressive career and Alfred watched in disbelief as the young immature boy smiled shyly at the camera with no signs of the hard weary look that graced his features today. His stern looking parents ushered him past the many reporters and on into the pool. To an outsider it appeared as if they were protecting him, but Alfred now very much doubted that that was the case.

As was usually the situation with young progenies, at this point in Arthur's career he was hailed as the next coming and was Britain's darling of the year. Even though Alfred was nowhere near as young, he was currently experiencing a lot of that same fame and attention that Arthur must have known, although in a much less sheltered capacity.

The television then skipped ahead to a shot of Arthur high on the platform during the preliminaries and Alfred could easily see how nervous he was despite his brave front.

He recognized that look; he'd seen it a hundred of times when Athletes buckled under the pressure of a big event. Routines were forgotten and athletes just tried to make the best of a bad situation.

To be fair to Arthur, despite the look of terror on his face, the nervous glances towards where his coach and parents sat, he bit his lip in agony and managed to pull off a fairly decent performance. He looked proud of himself when he finally emerged from the water. But it hadn't been a high enough score to place for the finals and the young teen had looked crushed when the scores were announced. In contrast, his parents had looked livid.

Game after game was shown on TV and each year Arthur's performance worsened dramatically until he finally hit rock bottom in Beijing back in 2008.

In China, Arthur hadn't just fudged his routine, he'd completely chocked on the platform in what could only have been a full out panic attack. A much more severe version of what Alfred was sure he'd witnessed not an hour before outside the meeting hall.

Being able to quickly look back through the years, Alfred began to suspect that these attacks had been present all along, but never more obvious than in Beijing. By now the cameras only watched Arthur to see how he would once again embarrass himself, no longer were they hopeful or supportive of their star Diver.

Alfred was on the edge of his seat as he watched the proceeding routine; he'd never seen or heard of this performance himself as the antics of a foreign diver wouldn't have made big news in the US.

Alfred watched in morbid fascination as despite all indicators to the contrary, Arthur managed to pull himself together long enough to step forward with one shaky leg after another. This was even after the announcers had stated to predict that he'd probably have to walk back down the ladder.

The recap was night and day from the comments of Arthur's first Olympics. Whereas back then they had been so full of awe of this young new progeny; their voices were now only filled with mocking and scorn to see how Arthur Kirkland would embarrass his home country once again.

It was almost painful to watch as Arthur approached the edge of the platform, he looked unbelievably pale and kept looking over to where Alfred was sure his parents must have been seated; they were no longer next to his coach, but out amongst the crowd.

And this time around, Arthur didn't just give a poor performance, his muscles literally seized up on the jump; no doubt a side effect from the hyperventilation that Arthur was so desperately trying to hide. The results were a spectacularly amateurish descent that even Alfred with his gymnastic background could have beaten.

The resulting splashdown looked painful and yet Arthur swam out with his head held as high as he could, even with his now gaunt complexion that had not improved during his routine. His coach had silently led him away from the reporters without even bothering to go over to the after area where they would have received their scores and been further interviewed.

As Alfred continued to watch, the current day BBC commentators joked that fellow Brits really shouldn't get their hopes up too high for this notorious train wreck, but that they should tune in anyways for what would promise to be a good show.

If Alfred hadn't felt bad before, he felt absolutely mortified now. It was no wonder Arthur had accused him of being insincere. If his own countrymen were so quick to laugh at him, what must the international community think of this 'joke' of a Diver… people like Tony!

And… speaking of the devil…

"I told you he was no good Al, look how he's already managed to ruin your perpetual good mood."

Standing in the doorway was none other than Tony Smith.

Alfred tried his best to ignore his friend and set his face into a stern frown as he purposely kept his eyes glued to the TV, even as the program continued to crack various jokes about Arthur.

"Come on Al… you're not still mad at me are you? You know I would never have posted those photos. I'd never risk your sponsors dropping you!"

Despite his resolve to ignore Tony, his last comment managed to get to him and he cried out petulantly like a child. "I don't care if my sponsors know I'm gay, I'm upset that you made me look like a jerk."

Tony rolled his eyes but still managed to look at least somewhat diplomatic. "Ok first off, you _should _care if your sponsors find out about that small little 'detail' that you're doing a pretty bad job of keeping under wraps; and secondly, I'm sorry, ok! I know that you're into that British bastard; I even get why. But you really don't know him or what you'd even be getting into if he ever returned your interest, which he wouldn't by the way. I'm helping you out here, Al. Arthur's a really miserable human being. I mean just look at this." Tony pointed angrily towards the TV. "This is a perfect example of how selfish Arthur is. Year after year he wastes a perfectly good Olympic spot for England, when we all know he's just going to choke again anyways!"

Closing his eyes in frustration, Alfred outright snapped.

"I don't want to hear it Tony! Whatever Arthur is or isn't, it's up to me to make that decision. I spent my whole childhood being told by others what I was worth and how I would never amount to anything. I don't need to hear the same thing about anyone else."

"This is completely differ…"

"Tony I'm serious. If you want to stay friends you're just going to have to back off on this issue."

Tony seemed to visibly deflate and it appeared as if he were biting his tongue.

Whatever Tony's feelings were about Arthur, Alfred hoped that they weren't strong enough to throw away a good friendship.

"Alright, I'll let it go. It's not like it's going to matter anyways."

Alfred immediately abandoned the TV and turned to give Tony his full attention. "What do you mean it 'won't matter'?"

In light of Alfred's previous dressing down, Tony seemed fairly reluctant to bring up his news, but his inner satisfaction over the issue must have won through.

"Arthur is practically on house arrest. His parents won't let him participate in any non-mandatory events, and Coach James Gordon won't let him near the Pool House until his practice run. My coach was telling us how Gordon pulled every favour he had in town to make sure Arthur was banned from entering any Pools until he gives the go ahead. "

Alfred let out a huge breath of air out of the corner of his mouth, causing his unmanageable bangs to blow up and off to the side.

"God… that must be killing him?" He whispered out loud.

Tony had been chuckling to himself over the image of Arthur's supposed imprisonment, but stopped to give Alfred an odd look.

"What do you mean?"

Alfred shook his head as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Arthur's a perfectionist; no matter how much he practices it's never going to be enough. You take away the only outlet he has and Arthur's going to crack."

Tony let out an unnecessarily cruel snort with a shake of his head.

"Al, he's going to crack anyways. You better just sit back like the rest of us and enjoy the show."

xxxxxx

Author's Notes: I'm actually leaving for England tomorrow. Will be fun to check out the Olympic village while I'm there and gather some notes.

Thanks everyone for your comments. I know some people are having a tough time with Arthur's age (I'm 30, so I guess it's just no biggie for me). Still thanks for bearing with me.

But to help you overcome this: Brad Pitt and Johnny Depp are both 48… bet you wouldn't turn down a date from them :P

(Not to mention Colin Firth.. yummy! )


End file.
